Broken
by Rowen-Bells
Summary: In the blink of an eye my world came crashing down around me, and the life I knew was no more. The new world I had been cast into had left me broken, and I was forever changed because of it. But what hurts you can only make you stronger . . . right? No. I will not be broken. I wont be turned away. When it's too cold to breath, and too dark to pray. I will not be broken.
1. Prologue

**A/N:** _So after a few PM's, I have agreed to make Broken *one-shot* into a full story. By agreed, I of course mean had my arm twisted until I caved, LOL. Anyway, I hope you like it. That said . . . I will not remove the one-shot, but it will eventually play into this story. So if you have not read it, and decide to, do so at your own risk as it does contain spoilers. Granted, I'm sure some of it will change as I define the characters more. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it! As always, I don't own Fallout, as it belongs to Bethesda (did I spell that right?). I do however own my OC's, Rory and Liam . . . well kinda. Also, I want to give thanks to Ben Harper and Breaking Benjamin . . . even if they have no clue who I am. I listened to their music a lot when writing the first chapter. Please let me know what you think, and whether you think it's worth continuing. Thanks!_

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**Prologue**

My life had never been perfect, but it wasn't bad either. The Vault was a safe haven compared to what was outside the enormous iron door that locked us in. In fact, no one really knew what was outside. No one had been out of the Vault since the door closed over two hundred years ago. We knew based on history that war was the reason the Vault's were needed. It had become a nuclear holocaust out there. I couldn't imagine anyone had survived. The fallout alone would have killed them if the blast didn't. But here we had been protected and sheltered. Safe. I had lived my life here. My father was the doctor, and I was quickly following in his footsteps. My mother had died not long after I was born, complications from the birth.

It had not been easy for my father to raise a small girl, but with the help of his friends, he had managed. At sixteen, I had taken the G.O.A.T.S and found that I was destined to become the next Vault physician **― **something my father was very proud of. But my education didn't stop there. My father's lab assistant, Jonas, made sure that I was proficient in computers and science as well.

Outside of work, I had a very active life. In fact, if it weren't for the Tunnel Snakes, life would have been perfect. But I guessed that every vault had their trouble makers. I tried not to think about them too much though. Butch, the ring leader, had become the vault barber . . . Something Amata and I were quick to make fun of. My best friend, and daughter of the Overseer, was to follow in her own father's footsteps. Then there was Freddie Gomez. I had had a crush on Freddie since I was ten. At sixteen, I finally let it be known to him, and at twenty, he finally had asked me out. My father was concerned of course, given Freddie's mental state at times, but I was ecstatic! He had planned a picnic in a restricted section of the vault, where we had our first kiss. We had been dating ever since.

How was I to know that it would all come crashing down? That it would only take one thing to send the Overseer into a frenzy and order his guards to kill me? Something that would have his own daughter defying him as she helped me to escape past the door that had not opened since they closed two hundred years ago. The world as I knew it would end.


	2. Beginning of the End

**A/N: **_Word of warning . . . this chapter has some graphic material and language . . . hence the M rating in the first place. I just wanted to give a fair bit of warning. Thanks and I hope you review! _

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**~Chapter One~**

_The Beginning of the End_

I couldn't move. Terror gripped me at the mere idea of taking another step. I wanted to turn around and bang on the iron door that was cold against my back. I could still hear the alarms wailing just faintly on the other side. I wanted to beg the Overseer to let me back in **―** to understand that I had no way of knowing what my father had been up to. Couldn't he see that? Why was he after me? I had done nothing wrong! Guilty by association, I guessed. Everything had gone so wrong! My father fleeing, the guards after me, Officer Gomez helping me . . . and I was still shaken at the memory of Amata killing Officer Mack. We had grown up with these people! _I_ had grown up with them! How could they possibly think . . .? Silent tears began to fall now and I leaned my head back against the cool door, hoping to stop the building panic before it swallowed me. I was too terrified to follow the dark cave toward the lit door at the end. I remembered what had been written in the Overseer's terminal, but all the same . . . I had grown up believing that this outside world was dangerous. That no one had or could survive out there. It was not an easy thing to overcome.

But my father had come out here. _He_ had risked it. In my pocket I had the disk that he had left for me **―** his final goodbye. He had not wanted me to follow him. He wanted me to stay in the Vault, get married, have children . . . die. That was his vision for me. Could he really not have known how the Overseer would react? I was not foolish enough to believe that the Vault was perfect, and try as he might have to hide it, I knew of the tension between him and the Overseer. I slumped to the hard ground, pulling the holodisk out of my pocket and listened to it again, the tears still falling from my eyes, as I clung to every word he said.

_". . . I don't want you to follow me. God knows life in the vault isn't perfect, but at least you'll be safe . . . just knowing that will be enough to keep me going . . ."_

I sighed. But I wasn't safe, was I? I was trapped on the outside, too scared to move. Unsure of what to do or where to go. My heart cracked painfully as I heard his final words.

_"Okay, go ahead. Goodbye. I love you." _

Stop.

_"Goodbye. I love you."_

Stop.

_"I love you." _

Curling up on the ground, I hugged the cold hard cassette to my chest. The tears came in torrents now.

I wasn't sure how long I lay here for. I watched as the light came and went, and then came and went again. The only constant light was the dim green glow of my pip-boy. I was only faintly aware of the hunger pains that coursed through my stomach, but those too eventually died away. My throat seared with pain from time to time **―** a sign that my hydration level was dangerously low. I barked a dry laugh. Always the medic. And then the tears again. Why had everything gone so wrong? I asked myself that question over and over again, hoping an answer would suddenly present itself. What could my dad possibly have to do that was more important than me? That was more important than our lives together? Everything we had wanted was in that Vault. I began to lose track of time lying here. I couldn't remember how long ago the vault had opened now.

A bright light blinded me. I looked up with confusion, blinking away the pain in my light sensitive eyes. Was I dying? Was my mother going to walk out of the light and take me back with her? As if on cue, a dark figure began to float forward. I smiled up at her.

"Whooo-weee boys! Look at what we have here!"

It wasn't my mother. A man with dark hair sticking up on his head was grinning at me. This didn't make any sense. I had always been told that when you die, you reunite with lost family and friends. I didn't know these people. This man was dirty, his bare chest wrapped with some kind of makeshift armor that had been adorned with deadly looking metal spikes. Two other's came up on each side of him, flanking him. Just as dirty. Just as dangerous looking. The other two laughed as they looked down on me with malice in their eyes. My stomach dropped as I registered the danger I was really in. Scrambling to my feet, I fought against the wave of dizziness as I pressed myself against the iron door. I was way too weak from not eating.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa! Chucky, did you see that jumpsuit?" The short-stocky one on the right asked, his eyes wide.

"What about it?" The middle one asked, his eyes roving over my body, making me uncomfortable.

"Its got one-oh-one on it," Said the stocky one again.

"Bullshit," came the cynical tone of the tall one on the left. His hair was a shocking shade of blue.

"Hey, you calling me a liar?" The short one turned to the tall one, his face twisted with rage.

My heart pounded as I watched the men stand off. I should say something! Anything! What had my father always taught me? Never judge a book by it's cover? I wondered if he would keep that opinion with these guys. All the same . . . perhaps these men could help me. I swallowed, trying to fight the doubt in my stomach. My face flushed as I met the middle one's eyes again. Chucky, was it? While it was the other two that were currently fighting, I was more terrified of this man. The way his eyes lingered. The way he lewdly licked his lips. So caught up by his uncomfortable gaze, I had not noticed the stocky one until he was right in front of my face.

"No!" I cried out, finding my voice at last, as he grabbed a handful of my clothes and spun me around for the other two to see. I tried to push away from him, but his hold was tight. "L-Let me go!" I choked out. "Please!"

"Relax, honey." His putrid breath washed over me, and I bit back the bile rising up my throat. "We ain't gonna hurt you."

At this, the other two laughed.

"Please, I d-don't want any trouble." I stammered, still trying to free myself from the grotesque man unsuccessfully.

"I said we ain't gonna hurt ya!" He all but yelled in my face, forcing a frightened whimper to escape my lips.

"At least not much," the middle one grinned. His dark eyes, watching my feeble escape attempts. My heart dropped at his words. I tried to fight back the tears that were beginning to swell, I didn't want them to see just how much they had gotten to me. "You from that Vault, sugar?" He went on, his arms crossed in front of him.

I nodded slowly. Maybe if I could keep it casual . . . keep my tone cool . . . I could talk myself out of this. These were after all, people. No person lacked empathy.

"Impressive," he said slowly. And then he sneered, "Lose the key?"

"N-No," I took a steadying breath, all but giving up on the burly man who held me captive still. "I wa-was kicked out."

"Uh oh," The middle guy laughed. "Tisk, tisk. Were we being naughty in there?" I shook my head, afraid to speak again. Terrified at the idea of having him say any more. I had been taunted in the Vault . . . but this . . . this was too much. This wasn't playful teasing. This was horrifying. The dam that had been keeping my tears in check burst as he took a step forward, smiling again as he reached behind his back and pulled out a long skinny piece of metal. "Well, that's a shame." He whispered, stopping in front of me, the iron weapon held loosely at his side. "It's okay though. We can be naughty out here."

Before I could so much as let out a scream, he pummeled the side of my head with his the hard metal rebar and everything when dark.

Pain. Unimaginable pain.

I could not seem to stay consciousness . . . was I dying?

Flashes of people. All the same **― **all different. All evil.

A scream. My scream perhaps?

Angry words were being whispered. Most of the time it was the same thing, "Hey! It's my turn!" "Fuck you! You went first last time!" This was usually followed by something heavy falling on top of me, pushing at me, clawing at my body. And then more pain. More screams. A needle piercing my skin. More darkness. I lost all track of time. It could have been weeks or months. It could have been thirty minutes. I wouldn't have known the difference.

I gasped as the biting cold water was thrown on me, waking me. My head clearer than it had been in a while. My hands were bound in front of me, and my wrists burned as the ropes twisted around them from my sudden start. How long ago had they removed my pip-boy? I wondered. Pushing myself over on my back, I looked up at the hateful face of the spiky-haired man. _Chucky._ My muscles burned instantly with the effort it had taken me to move, my sore body screaming to be left alone. As I struggled into a sitting position, I looked down at my ankle **―** it was broken. It hurt like hell and I there was nothing good about the angle at which it sat. Not just broken; dislocated.

"Drink up, puppy." Chucky sneered. "You are too much fun to play with. Can't have you dying on us just yet." At this, he tossed down a large bowl full of water. His intent was clear. I was to lap it up like the dog I was.

But I wanted death. Death would be better than this hellhole I had woken in; the hard dirty mattress stained with blood, my view of human carcasses hanging on the walls **―** their last victims. Was that my fate when this finally ended? To be skinned and hung as a wall decoration? I would gladly take it. I glared at the degrading dish, refusing to touch it. I met his eyes with defiance and I could practically see his teeth grinding as his nostrils flared in anger.

"I don't think you realize, _whore_ . . . this was not a request." He spat.

I flinched automatically as he barreled over to me, and I screamed, trying desperately to break free of his grip as he forced my head down toward the bowl and submerged my face in the water. I began gasping and choking on the water. I couldn't breathe! I bucked frantically, trying to come up for air, but I could hear him laugh as he shoved down harder, my face smashing roughly into the bottom of the bowl. I had wanted death so many times, and now that it seemed like I was going to get it, my body's natural survival instinct wanted to kick in? Finally, he jerked me backwards, and I cried out in shock, as my dislocated ankle twisted under me. My chest heaved painfully as I coughed several more times before I felt able to functionally breathe again.

It took everything I had not to cry in that moment. They hated it when I cried. They turned ruthlessly violent. But did I care anymore? I could honestly say that I didn't. With eager roughness, he grabbed a fistful of my hair and jerked my head back so that my back arched painfully, my mouth popping open unwillingly as my neck muscles strained. I was practically looking at him upside down. He smiled down at me before savagely slamming the needle into the side of my throat. I screamed and tried to push away from him. Please . . . not this again! His hand had a torturously tight grip on my hair, however. I wasn't budging. My breath hitched in my throat as he smiled and then released my head, my face snapping forward. Reaching up with my bound hands, I pulled out the needle that still hung from my neck and let it drop to the floor. I could hear him laugh his hateful throaty laugh behind me. Already it was becoming blurry, my senses dulling. I shook my head, trying to clear it. He kneeled in front of me, watching my futile fight against the quick acting drug.

"Don't fight it sugar," he leered. Reaching forward, his hand tucked a strand of my hair back behind my ear. "You want this don't you?" I shook my head, and then nodded. Wait. What was the question? My bound fists clenched tightly, and I could feel the familiar sting of the ropes cutting into my skin. It didn't hurt as bad though. More endurable. The blurry man in front of me laughed. No, not laughed . . . sneered. This man wanted to hurt me. I vaguely felt his fingers brush across my cheek and then cup my neck. Turning my head toward his arm, I bit his hand as hard as I could. The scream was shattering and the punishment swift. I was unconscious within seconds.

Angry shouts filled the adjoining rooms followed by a strange sound . . . was it barking?

Were they still yelling . . .?

What was that noise . . .? It was so close now . . .

"Hey . . . Hey!"

The voice was muffled, sounding miles away. It wasn't until my eyes opened a small sliver, that I saw the blurry figure standing in front of me He must have been who I had heard earlier. He said something else but I didn't catch it. I tried to reply, but it came out a garbled mess. Fuck it. He didn't need me to be articulate to hurt me anyway. His balmy hands on my face sent shivers running through me. At least he was warm. And then a whispered word.]\

"Shite."

Heat surrounded me and I was flying. I could feel the warmth from the sun as the wind blew through my hair. I had finally died. I looked up and saw an angel carrying me. I asked him to stay with me, and he promised he would. He would take me somewhere it no longer hurt. Somewhere away from the dark room **― **away from the horrible men.

Away from the pain . . .

I groaned as I rolled over. My body was soaked with sweat and I felt completely unhinged. The too soft bed creaked under me. That wasn't right . . . my bed didn't creak. Wait, did I have a bed? I couldn't remember. Curious. My eyes tightened against the stream of light hitting my face. My head was throbbing and I was shaking. It took only a couple more minutes before my brain caught up. My eyes flew open wide as I sat up quickly, grasping the blanket in my hands. I was alone . . . but . . . where the hell was I? The metal walls did little to keep the cool air out of the room, and I could see early light peaking in through the holes that had not been patched up. The bed in which I sat was pushed against a wall, a tall filing cabinet next to it. A large L-shaped desk with a typewriter perched on top of it took up the rest of the room.

I reached up to push my amber hair out of my face, and noticed the bandages that wrapped around my wrists. How did . . .? I quickly ripped one of them off and my eyes became huge as I examined the raw inflamed skin that covered my wrists. Bringing my shaking injured hand closer, I gingerly pressed my fingers against the red hot skin, watching and wincing as it turned white beneath the pressure. Releasing my fingers, the angry welt quickly regained its territory. I compulsively clenched and unclenched my hands. Why could I not get them to stop shaking? I glanced at the raw skin again. It was clear that there would be scarring. How bad this scaring would be, however, I didn't know. I looked at my other, still bandaged, wrist frowning. The injury reminded me of rope burn.

And then it hit me. It _was_ rope burn . . .

The cave . . . The men . . . The torture.

No. no, no, no, no, NO! I grabbed a fistful of my hair as clouded memories began to assault my mind. I could feel the sweat pouring from me as I weighed my options. I had to get out of here and I had to leave quickly! Fear began to pulse through my blood. I wasn't safe. This . . . this sense of security . . . it was a lie! This was . . . No! I threw the blankets off of myself and scrambled out of the bed as quickly as I could. My ankle was tender, but bearable and I remembered that I had thought it to be dislocated. Guess I was wrong. This was good though! Good because I wasn't going to try to sneak out . . . I was going to run for it. A dislocated ankle would have complicated that. I shook out my trembling hands, trying desperately to get the tremors to stop before I pulled the door open roughly. I barely noticed the room I was in now. I only knew that I needed to get out. I saw the stairs straight in front of me, and I took off quickly for them.

"GOOD MORNING, MADAM!"

I screamed, tripping sideways and landing hard on my palms; my heart pounding in my chest. Though the pain that radiated up my arms was intense, I didn't stay down long. Scrambling to my feet, I ran the only way I could **―** away from the robot that had come suddenly out of a second room, blocking the stairs. I grabbed some rails that blocked off a large hole in the center of the room, and looked down into what must have been a first floor living room. I tried to gage the distance as it didn't seem that far. I could jump. My heart was growing louder and I wiped the moisture from my face to keep it from stinging my eyes.

"You're ankle is still healing. I wouldn't do that."

I jerked away from where I stood, turning quickly toward the new voice. This one was definitely not a robot. There was a subtle accent there . . . Irish maybe? It was hard to tell as my only comparison was hearing an old holodisk back in the Vault. My breath hitched for half a second as I took in his features. His dark hair looked like he had raked his fingers through it once or twice in the past few minutes (a nervous twitch maybe), and his smooth chiseled jaw was taut. His eyes were such a bright crystalline blue that they made me uneasy. He was not without his own injuries. A faint bruise lined his cheek and he had a bandage on his neck. I couldn't look at his face anymore, focusing instead on his clothes. He wore a simple pair of jeans and a black T-shirt. He had another bandage on his arm. He looked nothing like the men who had kidnapped me, but I didn't care. I trusted no one anymore.

"Stay away from me," I warned, backing away from him.

"It's good to see you alive and well, Mada**―**"

"Shut up." He said, turning exasperated toward the robot that had moved forward. "Go find something to clean. Actually, go get Church."

Church? Who was Church? As a church could not be "gotten," I had a bad feeling. Fear trickled down my spine, sending goosebumps splashing across my arms. My body shuddered, and my hands obsessively balled into fists again. I decided I didn't want to wait and find out. Using his distraction to my advantage, I took several more steps backwards. I wanted to keep as much distance between us as possible. He was still watching the robot as it moved slowly down the stairs. I took another step back and bumped into a small cold metal cart. I turned quickly to see what it was. Either I was very lucky, or I was seriously pushing that luck, but it was a med cart **― **and there, right on top was a gleaming scalpel. I picked it up quickly and held it out in front of me with shaking hands. I realized then that he must have heard me hit the cart, cause he watched me now, his brows knitting together and a frown tugging at his lips. My stomach knotted at his blatant ease with my weapon. His sighed as he reached slowly for a long, slender, leather case that was attached to his belt. My fear muted me as he unsnapped a strap and withdrew a large, incredibly deadly looking, knife.

My hands began to hurt from gripping the scalpel so hard in my attempt to steady the tremors. I was not a match for a knife of that size, but I had to try! I had to! I locked my jaw **―** I. Would. Not. Be. A. Victim. Again. My body shook as I raised the scalpel higher. If I could just be fast enough, I could shove this in his eye. That should stall him long enough for me to be able to get away. I could feel the rapid pulsing of my heart in my tightly clenched hands, and I bit back on the tears that had threatened to spill over. _They hated it when I cried_. I fought against my terror, swallowing compulsively. I wanted to scream at him to stop staring at me! Watching me, he held his empty hand out away from him, his brows raised slightly. It was clear that he was trying to prevent me from carrying out whatever attack I was planning. I said nothing and I did not relax my stance, my gaze bouncing from him, to his knife, and back.

My eyes widened when he took a swift step toward the rail and tossed his knife over the side. I could hear it bounce off of something below. He then held both of his hands up, showing me the backs and then his palms. "I'm unarmed," he stated calmly. Almost bored sounding.

"I don't care." I breathed through clenched teeth, eyeing the staircase behind him. "You wont stop me from leaving!"

"Did you think I was trying to?" His brow creased with confusion. "Why don't you put the scalpel down? We can talk once you do."

"Fuck you!" It sounded much braver than I felt. "I have nothing to say to you."

He sighed at my words. It was not an angry sigh though. It was more like inevitability.

"I really don't want to have to disarm you**―**" He walked forward and I coward backward, brandishing the scalpel at him. His hand snapped forward with a twist before I could so much as flinch. When he pulled it back, the scalpel was no longer in my hand, instead shining dangerously in his. "**―**But I really don't want you hurting yourself."

My fear incapacitated me as he took another step forward. I thought of a hundred different ways to try to defend myself, each thought more feeble than the last as he came to a stop only inches from me. Why would my hands not stop shaking?! His height was much more noticeable with his close distance. Six-three maybe? His brow lifted, his startling blue eyes never leaving my own terrified green ones as he reached around me to toss the scalpel back onto the med cart. Was I imagining it, or was he being careful about not touching me? Taking a step away from me, he showed me his hands again **― **his way of letting me know that he had not picked up a different tool.

"When you're ready to talk, I'll be downstairs." With that, he turned his back to me and headed toward the steps. He stopped a quarter of the way down, but didn't look at me when he spoke again. "There are some clothes in the bedroom for you. Lucy is only slightly bigger than you, so they shouldn't swallow you. You may be more comfortable in them than my shirt."

I gasped, looking down surprised at the long white T-shirt that hit me just above my knees. I had not noticed what I was wearing at all. Had I become that unobservant? Looking up, he was still standing there, but now he was watching me, his eyes unreadable. I fought the urge to both yell at him, and run out the door. I would have to pass him to run out the door though . . . And despite what he said, I wasn't sure he would let me. He chewed slowly on his lower lip.

"You're safe now." He said finally, his brow creasing. "You don't have to be afraid here." With that, he turned and finished his way down the stairs. I fell to my knees the moment his head disappeared, my body wracked with silent sobs.

It had taken all my strength to get back to my feet and into the room I had woken up in. I saw the clothes he had mentioned folded nicely on the desk. I had missed them in my eagerness to get out of here. What the hell was wrong with me? I picked up a pair of brown leather pants and looked at them. I had never worn leather before. There had never been a need to in the vault. Setting them down, I looked at the other clothes; a pair of jeans, a white camisole, a black tank top, a brown leather jacket, some underclothes, and a pair of boots. A belt also rested nearby. Who had he said he had gotten them from? Lucy? I wondered if that was his wife. The idea of seeing another female was strangely comforting to me. He had been right about some of the clothes. The jeans were slightly loose in the waist and I was grateful for the belt, but the white camisole fit perfectly. I wasn't concerned with how well the leather jacket fit, nor did I put it on.

Dressing had been made difficult by the pain in my arms and my trembling fingers. I couldn't help but to stare at both my bandaged and un-bandaged wrists, and then the bruises, scrapes, and cuts that adorned my entire body. I felt almost sad at having lost my pip-boy. It had been such a constant in my life . . . like my father and the Vault. Anger began to engulf me. Anger with my father for running out of my life. Anger with the men who took from me my innocence. And inexplicable anger with the guy who waited downstairs. I didn't even know his name, but I was sure he was why I was here. He had kept me from my death. While I knew it was unreasonable to even think . . . and that I should be thanking him instead . . . I couldn't help but to feel that that was just as unforgivable. The boots were too big, so I didn't bother to wear them. Sighing, I opened the door and made my way down the stairs to confront the man who was the reason I was alive. The man I already despised.

"Thank you," my voice was harsh as I stepped on the landing and shook out my hands. His back was to me, hovering over a work bench. I clenched my fists and then reopened them. They were never gonna stop shaking! I crossed my arms around my stomach, tucking my hands beneath them. Hopefully that would help.

"Your welcome." He shrugged indifferently without looking up. This irritated me.

Turning away from him, I took in the room fully now. Two red chairs sat in the center of the room with a table placed between them. Shelves and lockers adorned the wall, and a large display case with . . . what the fuck were those? I stepped closer to the stand that held several little toy men with too-large heads. Great, he was a doll collector. Not creepy at all. In the corner there was a small nook that held a fridge, stove, sink, and more shelves. I could honestly say I had never seen any place like this before. I turned back toward the living room and stopped. He was watching me, his face void of emotion. I wasn't sure what I should do now, and I looked toward the door longingly. Would he let me leave? Before I could think much more on it, a sharp pain radiated through my skull. I winced.

"You should sit down." It was neither a request or a command. "Doc Church should be here soon."

_Doc_ Church. So he had sent for a doctor? Taking a step back toward the chairs, I sat down slowly. I felt as if I had been hit by a ton of bricks. A soft sound from above caught my attention, and I looked at the stairs just as a large grey . . . was that really a dog? I had heard of dogs before, and I had seen pictures of them, but I had never seen one in real life. I didn't know they even existed still. The dog stopped at the foot of the stairs, its head cocked as it looked at me.

"Dogmeat . . . stay."

I looked irritably back at . . . whoever the hell this guy was. While there was no missing the tone at which he had said it, I couldn't figure out why he didn't want the dog approaching me. And had he really just called the him, _Dogmeat? _Also, what was with the look he was giving the dog now? Worry mixed with amusement. The dog whined comically as if he understood what he had been told and was arguing his case. I let a laugh slip. Both of them turned suddenly to look at me and I bit the inside of my cheek. Oops.

"Dogmeat has been guarding over you since you got here three days ago." He said, watching the dog and me. "Which is strange, seeing as how he usually doesn't take to strangers right away. I usually have to make sure he doesn't try to rip their throats . . ." he trailed off suddenly. "Um . . . Are you okay?"

No. Not even close. My compulsively clenched fists would not stop shaking. I had a headache that was about to split me apart, and now . . . had I heard him correctly? "Three days ago?" I whispered. "I've been here for three days?"

He nodded slowly, watching me as if I were a ticking time bomb and he a member of the bomb squad. "You mostly slept." He shrugged. "Lucy would look in on you from time to time. Or Mrs. Vargas. They were really good about helping you with your more feminine needs. As I said, you _mostly_ slept, but there were times you were awake . . . granted . . . you were so far gone during those times, it doesn't surprise me that you don't remember."

I flushed at his direct words, but was secretly grateful that he hadn't been required to deal with that. I was quiet for some time as I thought about what he said. Peeking up at him, I saw he was still watching me and I quickly turned my attention back to the dog who had trotted over to me. _Dogmeat. _"Why did you pick such a horrible name for him?" I asked, keeping my eyes on the dog while I scratched him between the ears with my shaking fingers. I was sure he noticed that I was changing the subject.

"Because it was better than Shit-stain." I looked up at him to see if he was joking. His even tone and the shrug of his shoulders told me he was not. He continued, seeing my confusion. "He wasn't housebroken when I found him and he shit . . . _a lot_ . . . everywhere. I would tell him constantly that he was gonna be dog meat if he kept it up. Guess I said it so much that the dumb mutt thought it was his name. It's the only thing he answers to now."

The affection in his voice gave away that he really didn't think the dog was dumb in the least. All the same, I wasn't sure whether to laugh or not. I didn't. A quick rapping on the door made me jump, a startled scream escaping my lips. Dogmeat barked happily and bounded off toward the door, leaving me with my breath caught in my throat. Without being answered, the door was pushed open and a large dark skinned man walked in. His hair was white as snow and it matched the mustache and beard on his face. His eyes were tired but alert. He was dressed simply in a white shirt that looked dull in comparison to his hair, and some beige cargo pants. He had a brown satchel hanging from his shoulder. His attentive eyes widened when he saw me sitting there looking up at him. I was shaking. Not cause I was scared but because I just couldn't stop shaking! The robot that had been sent away earlier came in behind the man followed by an elderly woman. Her cropped grey hair was swept elegantly to one side, and she wore a pretty blue dress that buttoned down the front. She was thin in the extreme.

"Sir! Doctor Church is here as you requested! And Mrs. Vargas as well."

"I'm sure he noticed," Doc Church replied, his bass like voice framed with annoyance. "How is she, Liam?"

Liam? Was that his name? It dawned on me just how odd it was that we had not exchanged names thus far. I turned my eyes to the dark haired man, and I was sure that I had missed some kind of silent exchange between the two of them. This irritated me.

"You could ask her, you know." The older woman chastised. "The poor dear has been through enough without you both acting like she's deaf too!"

_Oh, I liked her._

At this, the corner of Liam's mouth twitched upward into a smile before he quickly hid it again. He turned his eyes upward toward the doctor, his expression indifferent as he responded with, "You heard the lady."

I tightened my arms around myself, unsure of what the doctor was going to do now that he had been giving the go ahead to approach me. I watched as he rolled his eyes and then sighed before turning his attention back to me. He no longer looked annoyed, but wary. He walked slowly, as if calculating each step, before coming to a complete stop a foot away. "I'd like to check you out if that's okay?" He pointed to my un-bandaged wrist.

I nodded, catching Mrs. Vargas's encouraging smile. I smiled timidly back. Liam had mentioned her when he had talked about the care I had received from other women, and I hoped that in that smile she saw how grateful I was for her help. I wondered if this was possibly his mother or grandmother; and I couldn't help but wonder why she was here now. Liam had told his robot to bring back the doctor **― **had she just happened to be wherever he was at the time?

It seemed Liam, on the other hand, was not surprised at all by her arrival. "Thank you for coming." I heard him say to her. I missed what he said next as at that moment, the doctors cool fingers probed my inflamed skin and I jumped lightly. He was kneeled in front of me, his alert eyes watching my wrist as he bent it gingerly back and forth. My hands were shaking so bad in his that I was sure he was going to say something about it. He didn't. He didn't even seem remotely surprised by how much they shook.

"Yeah, that's going to be sore for a little while," he said softly without looking up. "And it's probably going to scar." That I already knew. "What happened to the bandage?"

"She ripped it off." Liam stated before I could open my mouth. I glared at him and he shrugged in return.

"Well, I'll put another one on," the doctor mumbled, his fingers moving lightly up my arm to the clotted cuts and the multicolored bruises. "We don't want it getting infected."

His dark brown eye's finally found mine, and he smiled. At least . . . I _think _it was a smile. It looked more like a grimace that he was trying to pass off as a comforting smile. I looked up at Liam, who looked bored, and then at Mrs. Vargas who genuinely smiled and nodded. I still didn't know where I was, or who these people were . . . and yet, they all seemed to know me. My lower lip trembled, and I bit down on it. The last thing I wanted to do was start crying. I tried taking a deep breath, but couldn't. My ribs were too sore. The doctor noticed my grimace.

"Something I did?" He asked, without specifying. He didn't need to. I knew what he meant, and I shook my head.

"My ribs are just sore." I replied.

"Yeah, that's to be expected." He nodded, looking back down at my bandaged wrist that he had just taken in his hands. "While easily mendable, bones usually continue to be sore for some time after they break **― **how's your ankle feeling?"

I slowly flexed and pointed my foot. It hurt but it wasn't unmanageable. But . . . he had said broken bones, but that they were mended? That was impossible! If they were telling me the truth, and I had only been here for three days . . . there was no way that my bones would be healed by now! "It's fine . . . are you saying I have broken ribs?" I blurted out. "And that my ankle is broken?"

"_Had _and_ was._" He corrected. "There were three ribs with fractures. Your ankle on the other hand was dislocated. No worries there though. I had just gotten a shipment of Stimpack's. Both ribs and ankle are fine now, though tender I'm sure."

"What? What's a . . . wait . . . no, this isn't making sense!" I said, my fists opening and closing once more. "It takes a dislocated ankle anywhere from six to eight weeks to heal completely! I've been up walking on it! And what's more . . . was a CT scan done to make sure that I had no torn ligaments, that the nerves weren't**―**"

"Do you have medical training?" The doctor asked with a slight smile. Flushing I nodded. "Thought so. Well, then you should know that I did what was necessary to make sure that the stimpack provided optimal healing. Will you be sore for a week or so? Yes. Could there be lasting effects that can accompany a dislocation of that magnitude? As I'm sure you know, the answer to that is also yes. However, _if _there is, it would be extremely minor, and should not impact you in any way. I doubt you'd even notice it."

I nodded but then shook my head. "I don't get it." I stated, becoming visibly upset. I rubbed my temples as my head began to pound harder. I didn't think it could get much worse before it reached migraine status.

"What aren't you understanding, honey?" Mrs. Vargas had come to stand by the doctor, her eyes concerned as she watched me struggle.

"What the fuck is a stimpack?!" I cried out, throwing my hands up. "You keep saying that word **― **_Stimpack_ **― **and I don't even know what that is, or . . . or why it would be able to heal something that should have taken so much longer to heal!"

I watched as the three of them looked at each other; all of them appearing to be just as dumbfounded as I felt. I shook out my hands, my fingers having begun to cramp from how tightly my fist were balled up. My palm was sore from my nails digging into them. The silence was beginning to frustrate me. I didn't like it being so quiet. It reminded me of when it would get too quiet in that hell hole. I always knew something bad was going to happen then . . . that one of them would show up soon. I shook the memory away. I needed someone to talk or something to distract me while I waited for one of them to decide to answer my question. Where had Dogmeat gone? I scanned the room, but he was not in here. He must have gone upstairs. Damn. Instead, my eyes found Liam's, who was looking at me curiously. Like I was something to be studied. He ran his hand roughly through his hair and sighed. It was Doc Church who finally spoke.

"You don't know what a stimpack is?" he asked.

"No, I thought I'd test you by asking," I retorted sarcatically. I dropped my head in my hands as the headache finally made that last leap. I had a full blown migraine now.

"But . . . I thought you said you were a doctor." It was not a question. Doc Church was more or less throwing it at me like an accusation. I would have yelled at him for the insinuation behind his words, but I couldn't. Even the idea of yelling nearly made me cry out in pain. Instead I shook my head, biting my lip to keep from screaming. My head was splitting apart.

"What's wrong with her?" I heard one of them say.

"She's going through withdrawal," someone else said.

Their voices were like sledgehammers upside my head. I bent over further, dropping my head between my knees and wrapping my hands over the top, trying desperately to tune out the noise.

"Withdrawal?" A third voice. Were they trying to torture me?! Couldn't they talk softer?

"Yeah, I could see it when I walked in; the shaking, the rocking, the sweating, and the wide eyes. I just didn't realize it was _this_ bad."

I was not rocking! But it was then as I thought it, that I noticed my feet moving fluidly from the balls of my feet to my heels, and back again. I could feel as my body swayed forward with my feet. It wasn't a lot, but it was definitely noticeable now. Withdrawal. So was he saying that he thought . . . that he believed those vile men had. . . .

With my eyes squinted against the excruciating light that beamed in through the cracks and holes in the walls, I looked up at the doctor. He had removed his bag and had it opened on the ground, rummaging through it. "I was drugged?" I rasped.

"From the degree of your withdrawal, I'd say quite a few times." He replied, pulling out a syringe and a small bottle with clear fluid. "I apologize," he continued, unwrapping the syringe and plunging it through the rubber stopper on the glass vial. "If I had known the severity of your withdrawal sooner, this would have been the first thing I did. This may sting."

I closed my eyes as, without saying another word, he took my arm and straightened it. His fingers probed along my brachial artery briefly before he expertly glided the needle through my skin. I didn't feel it. All I could feel was the torture that was my migraine. Just as quickly as he had inserted it, he was removing it. I could feel him placing a small piece of cotton at the entry site and securing it with tape. It was then that I fully realized what he had done.

"What did you . . ." Shit! I wanted to scream as my head nearly exploded at my three words. I locked my teeth, and squeezed my eyes tightly to prevent them from opening. "What did you give me?"

"Medicine. It will counter the effects of whatever you were given," he replied.

"So I'm trading**―**" I stopped, my teeth grinding against each other. Breathe! I had to remind myself. Breathe! Shit, this hurt! "Am I trading one addiction for another?" My voice was raw as I finally got out what I had been trying to say.

"No." I felt his fingers on my neck as he checked my pulse. I slowly opened my eyes, one at a time in case the light proved to be too much again. I was relieved to find that it wasn't. My heart rate was slowing down **―** something he knew since his fingers were still against my pulse. I wasn't a hundred percent better, by any means, but I was getting there. I looked at the doctor curiously as he sighed with relief and removed his hand. "This will have no side effects and it is not addictive. It will, however, take away any and every effect of whatever drug they had been giving you. It'll be like you were never addicted at all."

I sighed in relief at his words, and noticed that my body was beginning to relax. Closing my eyes to take a deep unhindered breath, it was then that I remembered back in the vault when Butch had come to mine and my father's quarters at two in the morning. Brave, I had thought at the time, seeing as had he been caught by the guards or Overseer, he would have been in worse trouble. He had been unable to sit still, fidgeting with everything. I had nearly turned him away, but my father stopped me. It would seem that Butch and his other "Tunnel Snake" lackeys had been breaking into the clinic to steal narcs. My father had noticed that the drugs had been missing immediately, but couldn't really blame anyone as they had no evidence. I had had my suspicions from the beginning. Strung out, Butch bellowed his apologies and begged for something to make him stop craving another fix. My father had gone into his room, returning moments later with a syringe and glass vial I had never seen before **―** I opened my eyes, and looked at the glass jar with the rubber stopper that Doc Church had set on the ground. It looked just like the one my father had had **―** I never saw that jar again after that night. When I had asked my dad what it was he had given Butch, he simply shrugged and said that it was medicine before kissing me on the cheek and returning to bed.

I wondered now if it had been the same stuff Doc Church gave me. _Of course not!_ I chastised myself. My father had lived in the Vault all his life, so he would have had no way to get it. But then . . . there was the possibility wasn't there? I remembered the Overseer's terminal again, before I shook my head. No, had he been outside the Vault, he would have told me. Him and Jonas did experiment a lot though . . . perhaps they had come up with something close? I shook the memory away as my heart sunk at the thought of Jonas. He had been such a good man. Caring, smart, and always so funny. Even when I had been younger, he never treated me like I was a burden or a pain in the ass. He genuinely seemed okay with me being around when him and my dad were working. "Better you be here in here with us, staying out of trouble," he would laugh. "Instead of out there kissing boys." I would groan and flush red, insisting I didn't like boys. My dad would just smile and look at me with knowing eyes, but sworn to secrecy about my childhood crush on Jonas. Not that my father had to worry . . . Jonas was fifteen years older than me. But Jonas was gone now. I wondered if the Overseer would at least be decent enough to give him a proper funeral for Mrs. Palmer's sake at least.

"Honey?" I looked up at Mrs. Vargas, surprised to see her face filled with such concern. Doc Church, who was still crouched in front of me, was watching me with the same level of worry. Liam, however, looked indifferent as he leaned against the work bench, his arms crossed over his chest. "Did you hear me?"

I shook my head. I had been so lost in thought, that I was surprised that I remembered they were there at all. I heard Liam suppress a snicker, and I shot him an irritated look. He snickered in response.

"She asked your name." Doc Church said with a frown. "Are you feeling okay now?"

"Um, yeah." I mumbled. "A lot better actually . . . Thanks. And my name is Aurora, but I go by Rory."

"Well, Rory," Doc Church got to his feet and crossed to the matching red chair, taking a seat. "Mind if I ask you a few questions now?"

It took a second for me to respond. I wasn't sure what it was he was going to ask and whether I would want or be able to answer them. Slowly, meeting each set of eyes in the room, lingering on Liam's the longest, I nodded. "Wait . . ." I began shaking my head just as quickly, sure that my sudden change made me look insane. "You never answered my question."

"The Stimpack?" Doc Church replied, and I was grateful that he had not forgotten. "Do you really not know what that is?" Seeing the look on my face he hastily continued. "It's not that I don't believe you . . . it's just that . . . I don't think I have met anyone out here in the Waste's who didn't know what Stimpack's were."

The Waste's? That didn't sound promising in the least. But, "That would explain it," I finished my thought out loud. "I'm not from the 'Waste's.'" I sighed, dropping my eyes and running my fingers through my mess of hair when confusion spread across all their faces . . . all but Liam's who looked more intrigued than confused. It was almost as if he were expecting me to say that. I continued, "I'm from Vault 101, and we didn't have Stimpacks there; just good old fashion splints, casts, and crutches." When I looked up, Doc Church's mouth was hanging partially open, and Mrs. Vargas had her hand to her lips, her eyes wide. I looked at Liam, whose head was cocked slightly, a frown pulling at his lips. What had I said?

It was Liam who finally spoke. "You sure you're from Vault 101?" He asked.

"Yeah . . ." I became instantly defensive. Did they think I was lying? It was looking at Liam that I realized that he did believe me. It was the other two that weren't sure. "Why?" I asked.

"That Vault's been closed for two hundred years," Doc Church answered. "I don't think anyone believed people to be alive in there anymore."

"That's not completely true," I spit bitterly, again remembering the notes on the Overseer's computer. "A few years ago, the Overseer opened the Vault and had some of our people scout the area. They came across Megaton and spoke with the locals there."

Liam's brow arched but that was the extent of the emotion's he portrayed. He was frustratingly good at hiding whatever it was he was thinking. It was Mrs. Vargas who spoke this time. "I remember that," she whispered, finally dropping her hand. "A Misses . . . Palmer? Yes, I think that was right." My stomach dropped at the sound of the name. Would she blame my father for the death of her son? I bit my lip, not responding. "She came with two others . . . I believe they set up some kind of trade system with the caravans."

"So why leave?" Liam cut in, looking at me. It was obvious he didn't care to hear Mrs. Vargas talk about the visit from long ago. "The Vault, I mean. Why did you leave?" He added.

"I . . .," I looked at him, unsure of how to answer his question. Unsure of whether I _could_ answer. His face was just as unreadable as usual, and it may have been because of that reason that I decided I could. I knew, without knowing how I knew, that he would not mock my answer, whatever it was. "My father left . . . I came looking for him." Was my mind playing tricks on me, or had Liam's eyes widened slightly? It was hard to tell as it had happened so quickly. My heart began to race as irritation crept up without warning. Did he always act like this, or was it just towards me?

"Why did he leave?" I flinched lightly as the question was thrown at me. What was Liam's sudden interest in this all about? It was almost uncomfortable the way his crystalline blue eyes stared intently **―** almost expectantly **― **at me. He was leaning forward, his hand massaging the side of his neck.

I shook my head, "I don't know."

"You don't know?" His brow arched.

I felt myself bristle at the implication behind his words. "No." I snapped. "I _don't_ know. I was woken up by my friend who told me my father had left the Vault. As soon as those words left her lips, I grabbed some of my shit and went after him."

"He didn't tell you himself that he planned to leave?" Liam prodded. "No note? No goodbye? Sounds like a great guy."

"What the fuck does it matter to you?!" I burst out angrily, wanting nothing more than to punch him in the face. "My father is an _amazing_ man! And he _did_ leave me a note saying goodbye, not that its any of your business!" Before he could respond, I jerked my head away from him to look at Doc Church. "Did you have questions for me?" I said more irritably than I meant to. I took a deep breath and held it, counting to ten before I exhaled. It still required some effort to keep my tone even, but I hoped I had succeeded in conveying that I was done talking about the Vault and my father.

"Um, yeah,"he said nervously, glancing from me to Liam. If Liam was making a face or a gesture, I didn't know as I purposely kept my eyes averted. Doc Church composed himself quickly, but still hesitated briefly before asking slowly, "Knowing now that you came from the Vault . . . how long ago was this?"

Maybe I hand't conveyed my preference as well as I thought I had. "I don't know." The response was so quick that his brow arched skeptically. I nearly exploded. First Liam, now the doctor?! "I really don't!" I practically yelled, throwing my hands up. "As I said, I left to find my father. In the Vault we're taught that the outside world is unsafe. No . . . not unsafe." I amended. "Uninhabitable. That leaving the Vault is certain death. I couldn't get myself to leave the cavern after the Vault door had shut. And then . . ." I closed my eyes, trying to breathe past the lump that had risen in my throat. And then those men had come. Those horrible fucking men. I bit back the tears. They hated it when I cried. They were more ruthless when tears fell. When I was sure that I would not waiver, I spoke again. "And then some . . . _men_ . . . showed up." I opened my eyes, looking at the doctor. "They hit me in the head with something, and I passed out . . . woke up here."

I wasn't sure why I had chosen to lie in that moment. While I really didn't remember every gory detail, having apparently been drugged up a lot, I remembered enough. And I had zero desire to be questioned about it.

"Rory?" I closed my eyes again at Liam's voice. It sounded genuinely concerned, and I couldn't, in that moment, look at him. I was still angry with him, but there was more . . . I was scared. Scared that I would finally see emotion on his face, and I didn't think I would be able to handle it. He continued when I said nothing. "Those men who did that . . . they won't be able to hurt anyone else."

I nodded, my eyes still shut tight. I knew what he meant. In my head I saw the cuts and bruises that were on his own face and body. He had killed them all. This should have frightened me . . . That I was in the room with someone that had murdered several men and could say it so . . . easily. All I felt was relief.

"So you don't remember anything between there and here?" Doc Church probed.

I opened my eyes, shaking my head as the fight went out of me. My shoulders slumped. "Not really. Flashes . . . but I cant really make out what the flashes are."

"Well . . ." He paused, raking his dark fingers along his short snow white hair. "Damn. I'm not sure how to tell you this then, but as your attending doctor it's my duty to . . ."

"I was raped." My words were void of emotion as I cut him off. I knew that thats what he was trying to get at, and I didn't want to hear the words come from his lips. It was easier to say them myself. I heard an intake of breath, though I wasn't sure who had done it. "I know."

"But I thought you . . . That you couldn't remember?" The doctor stammered.

"I don't and I can't." I lied, my voice hard. "I had discerned that for myself upon waking up earlier."

"Oh, of course." He said, nodding. "I'm sorry."

There was an awkward silence that followed this, and I didn't like it. I looked down at my hands, not wanting to look at the faces of those around me, knowing that I would not be able to stand their looks of pity. On the floor, the little glass vial shimmered in the sunlight. Mrs. Vargas said that the scouts had set up a deal with some trading caravans? I wondered if my father really did get that medicine he had used on Butch from the outside world. Mrs. Vargas remembered Mrs. Palmer. It was weird hearing the names of people I knew out of the lips of people I didn't know existed.

"So I'm in Megaton then?" I asked, finally looking up.

"Yes," Liam replied with a nod. He didn't ask how I had come to that conclusion.


End file.
